Let the Music Play
by DecadesNCenturies
Summary: "Since when were you such a perceptible person?" "I'm dull as fuck. I just pay attention to everything when it comes to you." "Funny. I do the same." The War is over and it's time to make amends. With alcohol, of course. D/Hr oneshot.


A/N: I don't own Harry Potter. This may turn into a multi-chaptered story but for now I am leaving it as a oneshot.

 **Let the Music Play**

The music plays.

Hermione cannot pinpoint the exact moment that lead to this preposterous set of circumstances, but so far her sanity is intact. At least, she believes so.

His restless smile stirs up her insides unlike any boy she has kissed, or, in this case, sleazily made out with at an obscure karaoke bar.

"C'mon, Granger, you know you're enjoying this."

He half-laughs, playfully elbowing her sides. She knocks him off.

"And who thought _you_ would be so up for such a Muggle-esque adventure?"

"...Can we not bring up any words associated with the bloodiest shit we have endured this far? I'd rather not be reminded of the fact that I may as well be sent off to Azkaban any minute if it wasn't for my mother."

"Okay. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. You're the hero anyway. Want another shot?"

Poppy indie tunes pound the rustic counter. As Draco motions the waiter to bring them another round of tequila, Hermione stares at his luminescent silver streaks and inhales his pulsating air of electricity. He is practically glowing, and at this moment, Hermione thinks he is quite sexy. She blames it on the alcohol.

He gulps down the drink in one shot.

"Hermione,"

He mutters her name like it is a secret. His voice is carefree and raspy, indicating his current state of intoxication. She is yet to be faltered. Despite her know-it-all attitude and stellar marks, she has a surprisingly high tolerance to alcohol. She has never found herself in such a close proximity to Draco in a long time. Or to anyone, really.

"Can't believe you're already so drunk, Malfoy."

"Aw, come on, I called you by your name. Can't you do the same for me, Miss Perfect?"

Her heart skips a beat.

"Whatever, Dr-Draco."

He stares at around them like he is enchanted. Heat, not the arid and blistering kind, but the irresistibly attracting kind, is emanating from them in waves.

"I practically lived for this moment. Never in my life have I felt more free."

"Well, now you are. We all are."

She can easily see through the devilish grin and the handsome face. She sees a red gash marking his flesh like ink, extending from his collarbone and disappearing beneath his white shirt. She sees how thin and frail he is, struggling daily in robes that are now oversized and skipping meals that she presumes aren't as appetizing as before. Through her gaze, she caresses his sunken cheeks and skeletal fingers.

Through the oversaturated rays of red and blue that hurt his eyes, he can make out her electric countenance. She's so fucking beautiful, and now that everything is nothing and faith had been tampered with, he entertains the possibility of letting his heart get run over. The very heart that survived through countless days of impending desperation and peril. The same dull and beaten heart that now only seems to work in front of a woman that saves the world and walks among fire.

"All my life, I just wanted to be loved by someone else. Unconditionally. Unlimitedly. Wholeheartedly."

Draco lets out with a sigh. He is staring at her like never before.

"My dad wanted obedience. I gave him that. Adopted his crappy ideology and clenched my teeth through his… so-called disciplinary measures. My pathetic excuse of friends wanted authority and leadership. I gave them that. I just told them what they secretly wanted to do themselves in forms of commands. Voldemort wanted a tool. I became that tool. And by the time I wanted to be loved, affection was a luxury. I was running for survival."

Hermione hesitantly stretches her hand across the counter and squeezes his hand that is gripping the glass with white knuckles. He is vaguely shaking.

"Now I'm a condemned man. Which is rightfully so. I can't ever fucking forgive myself. But tell me, Hermione, is it so wrong to want to be loved?"

His eyes are glistening with tears yet he is forcing a resigned smile. He shifts his gaze to the floor riddled with footsteps and liquor.

"No, it isn't. I'm sorry, Draco."

Maybe she's drunk too. She never thought she would, in her right mind, apologize to a Malfoy.

"There you go again, with your doe eyes and string of apologies. You're too kind for your own good, Hermione, you know that?"

"...I'm not such a nice person as you think I am."

"Bullshit. You probably have your own faults, as humans are supposed to, but you're basically the force of nature. Inherently kind and nurturing, unable to be stopped or refuted against."

Nobody has ever called her that. She loves it.

"Since when were you such a perceptible person?"

"I'm dull as fuck. I just pay attention to everything when it comes to you."

"Funny. I do the same."

"You do?"

He moves his gaze from his empty glass to her withholding eyes, her scattered rivulets of brown hair, and her shaky breath hitched at her throat. Then, all at once, she begins pouring her words out like this is the last night they have.

"Yes, I do. Actually, I've been worried sick about you, you know that? First, you skip meals. Then you stop talking to anyone. Not just to Theo, or Blaise, or even Goyle, but you isolate yourself and in classes you're just a mess. You quit the Quidditch team, which is crazily irresponsible, by the way, not that I care that much as a Gryffindor, and… and you're so gaunt! You're too skinny! That's not good, Draco. You constantly crash at Madam Pomfrey's office due to severe sleep deprivation, not that I asked her, of course, and you don't remember things, either. Remember when you forgot to wear your tie last week and I, out of all the fucking people, had to remind you? And I was really mean about it? Well, I was mad you weren't taking care of yourself. And frankly, I'm really sorry I was a bitch. You think people don't see these things, right? And maybe they don't. But I don't know… I can easily see you. I can see through you, Draco."

"..."

"That's it, really. Now please don't look at me like that."

But he can't look away. Maybe he really is as dull as a corpse, because while he was secretly cherishing her crystal clear laughs and breathing in her energy that paralyzed him to the core, he hasn't taken into consideration that she was doing the same. Hermione chokes out a sob.

"I don't want you to slip away, Draco…"

Slowly, and magically, Draco engulfs his gaunty yet steady fingers around Hermione's chin puffed up with dried tears. When she sniffs back another tear, he just pulls her to his embrace and under the limelight of the bar they just stay together. Together.

"Hey, I'll be fine. I'll be okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

When her newly emerging set of tears soak his shirt and he drenches himself in her blooming scent of lilac, he realizes he had always been in love with Hermione Granger.

She knows it too, although all this time she had been too afraid to admit it. How could she? Everyone around her was dying and admitting she was in love with the boy with the Dark Mark was like imprinting a Scarlet Letter on her face. But she returns the unsaid truth with fervor when he slowly but surely interlocks his lips with hers.

The music ends.


End file.
